Dampening Stephen II
by VT Arkens
Summary: After the confusing events at Aperture, now human Wheatley and Chell go to start a new life in his home country. But when he accepts a new job, Wheatley meets someone who will change his life forever. This is a sequal to my story Dampering Stephen.
1. Chapter 1: The Arrival

**NOTE: The closest I've ever come to being in the UK was the time I went to Plymouth, Massachusetts, which doesn't really mean much. Please excuse any errors on my part, and I hope you enjoy the story despite the. :)**

* * *

><p>The plane was relatively quiet the day they disembarked. Wheatley looked out the window at the blue sky which he hadn't seen in so long. He remembered the last time he'd been in a plane; when he'd made his voyage from Britain to America. And now he was going back. Not only that, but he was going with the woman he loved. Chell was equally amazed at the view, though it was obvious that she was anxious. "Are you sure I'll like it there?"<p>

Wheatley took in the sweetness of her voice, which still broke from time to time from lack of use. "Trust me, you'll love it." Ever since he had been put back in his human body, he had been able to feel emotions. Not the cheap, simulated emotions he'd had when he was a core, but real, sometimes frightening emotions. And those feelings existed only for the woman sitting next to him.

She nodded, but her worried expression never left. He took her hand in an effort to reassure her, which appeared to work.

"Attention, passengers. We will be arriving at Gatwick Airport in about fifteen minutes. Please buckle your seat belts and gather your belongings."

Wheatley smiled. "It's time."

"Are you _sure_ this is the right place?" Chell asked the cab driver as they pulled up.

He nodded. "Yep. This is it." She and Wheatley gawked up at the structure before them. Wheatley paid the driver and the two exited the taxi. When they'd been informed that GLaDOS had personally chosen a place for them to live, they both had expected a run-down flat, yet here in front of them was a huge victorian-style house. Surely it was a trap? There was no way that it could be this nice. But somewhere inside his memory, Wheatley knew that the part of Caroline that still lived on inside of the A.I. would never do anything to harm the child. Not anymore, anyway. Aperture had also funded their trip to Britain. That was how much GLaDOS had wanted them out. They entered through the kitchen and quickly made their way through the maze of hallways and rooms, which were all filled with furniture. As they stepped into the dining room, a surprise was waiting for them on the oak table.

It had no personal significance to Wheatley. There was no explanation, either. It seemed rather suspicious to him, but Chell approached the black forest cake and gave a sad smile. "It's not a lie anymore, sir." Wheatley had no idea who this "Sir" was, although, Chell wasn't exactly sure herself. Chances were, they never would.

"So the eight can turn into anything, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright! So, it'll be... an ace of f- no, wait, there isn't an ace of fours, is there? Then... ace of spades!" Wheatley didn't understand this game at all. Chell had taken it into her own hands to teach him how to play cards. So far, it wasn't going so well.

Chell put down a seven of spades. "You know, I was thinking about it-" Wheatley started.

She threw a card at him. "Focus." This small act of humour kept them laughing for almost ten minutes.

When the game was over (which took quite a while), Wheatley stood. "What do you say I show you around a bit?"

Chell looked up. "What do you mean?"

He took her by the hand and led her to the door. "Didn't I tell you? I grew up not to far from here." They smiled at each other and left, each excited to explore the world around them.

They didn't drive. (Neither of them had a license.) They wandered the streets on foot, Wheatley pointing out a familiar landmark every so often. Chell was mesmerized. When was the last time she'd been outside? It was with her adoptive father, who cared for her as if they were blood related. It was the day she'd been taken captive, the day he'd been murdered. Bring Your Daughter to Work Day. Though neither she nor her love knew it, Wheatley had once been close with both her real and adoptive parents. One he owed his life, one his job, and the other had tried to kill him multiple times.

Dr. Michael Anderson had been a shy man, always keeping to himself. Wheatley had been an Aperture employee for a few years at the time. He was an engineer, and he was known as more than a single name. Dr. Stephen Wheatley sat in his room, reflecting on all of the terrible things that had happened in his life. He was not the carefree, happy man he would later become. His parents had always told him that he would never amount to anything in his life, and he was beginning to believe them He'd never had any friends, so his teenage Friday nights had been spent reading, researching, and experimenting instead of playing football or seeing a movie with a girl. He didn't want to live with the pain and the sorrow anymore. He pulled a gun out of his desk drawer, and just as he was about to put an end to it, Michael had opened the door by simple coincidence. He'd torn the gun from his hands, and they'd been friends ever since. It was an odd meeting. Enter Caroline, who quickly (and unintentionally) stole Michael's heart. Upon Cave Johnson's death, she had asked Michael to take care of the child she was carrying when she was put into the computer that would later become his death.

Noticing a secluded path leading through the woods, Wheatley told Chell to follow him. The trek lasted for about a half an hour. "Where are we going?" She asked, clutching his arm in mock-fear.

"We're almost there." He smiled down at her, his sapphire eyes meeting her blue-grey ones. This was perfect. She had held him ten years ago while they were trying to make their escape, but he wasn't human back then. He hadn't felt the softness of her skin or the wonderful sensation of his rapidly beating heart. They stopped, and Wheatley whispered three words. "Close your eyes."

Carefully leading her a few metres ahead, he told her to look.

The woods were behind them, and there was a huge cliff, a river flowing slowly at the bottom. "My parents used to bring me here. It was a long time ago, of course. They figured it would make me want to get into painting, or something. Yeah, that didn't go so well. But I guess the reason I brought you here... is that it's almost as beautiful as you are." Chell responded the only way she could; whispering his name and wrapping her arms around his neck. He followed her example, taking her waist. As soul gazed into soul, a single thought passed through his mind. _Things are never going to be the same again._

They made their way to the water's edge via a hidden staircase carved into the rock. Wanting to be the first to be the first to take advantage of the warm late Spring weather, Wheatley took off his shirt and glasses and dove into the river. _Wait. What if I can't swim? Oh, I didn't plan for that. What am I saying, of course I can swim! Not a moron, remember?_ He proved himself right and urged Chell to join him. At her refusal, he emerged, but not for long. He took her and prepared to throw her in, ignoring her laughing protests. Knowing that she was going in whether she liked it or not, she decided to take her revenge. "Fine! But this is coming with me!" She grabbed his dry shirt off of the branch it had been hanging on.

"Oh, what!" But by then it was too late, and his only piece of dry clothing was submerged. The returned to the surface of the water, and kissed for a long moment.


	2. Chapter 2: Kurzbange

**Just want to thank everyone for their cultural notes. :) I've fixed the errors you've brought up. As regarding the Bristol accent V.S the childhood location, just assume that his parents were from Bristol and they moved there, and Wheatley got their accent. Yeah, let's go with that! :D**

* * *

><p>Chell straightened Wheatley's tie for him. "You nervous?" She asked. It was now September, the summer months far behind them. Aperture had paid him for the time he'd "worked" there as a core (minus the years in space), so he and Chell had managed to get by while they were unemployed. He'd actually been given the job a few months before, but this was the day he officially started work.<p>

"A bit, but how bad can a bunch of kids be?" He knew from experience that they could be very bad, but they would respect a teacher, right? He wasn't the strange boy in the corner anymore, and he didn't intend to act like it.

The school was in walking distance, which was good, because despite having gotten his driver's license, he had yet to purchase a car. He arrived early to make sure that everything was in order. The tables were clean, his desk was neat (for now), and the supplies was all there. He'd attempted to decorate, putting a poster of the periodic table on the door and a photo of Chell on his desk, but that was about the extent of it.

Once that was settled, he entered the teacher's lounge, all eyes focusing on him. Feeling awkward, he sat at an empty table and flipped through the papers regarding his class schedule. It felt like high school all over again.

"You're the new chemistry teacher, right?" A man had taken a seat next to him while he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.

"Yeah." Wheatley adjusted his glasses by pushing them up with his knuckles, which was what he'd always been known for at Aperture.

The man shook his hand. "My name's Denis Taylor. Eleventh Year geometry."

"Stephen. Stephen Wheatley." Saying his full name still felt very odd to him, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Part of him felt complete, like he had an actual identity, while another felt guilty that he'd missed out on so much of life.

They talked a while longer about personal matters before getting to work-related topics. "So, any advice for the new guy? Like, any particular students to watch out for?"

Denis pondered the question. "No, they're all pretty good kids."

"Don't lie, Taylor!" Another man broke in from a different table. "We all know there's one who's not exactly perfect."

"Well, besides him." Wheatley asked who they were referring to, Denis answering after he careful chose his words. "Jeremiah Kurzbange. I'm telling you, the kid's a menace. He always passes by one or two points at the most, and he has zero bloody respect for anyone."

Above the mutters of agreement, an older woman's voice cut through the air. "Now, you don't say a word against that boy! I taught him when I worked at the elementary school, and he was my best student. Don't even go about telling me that you wouldn't have been affected if you'd been in his situation."

Wheatley looked up at the Scottish woman. "What situation, if you don't mind me asking?"

She began to gather her papers. "He was in a car crash when he was eleven. Killed his parents and left him crippled. That was when he started his... episode."

Third period rolled around, and things were going pretty well up to that point. Wheatley called attendance, trying his best to remember names and faces.

"Amelia Kerring."

"Here."

"Joshua Kitne."

"Hello!"

And there it was. "Jeremiah Kurzbange."

"Unfortunately, I'm here."

Of course he was.

Wheatley observed the boy of seventeen. His messy brown hair fell over his eyes, which shot loathing at everything they saw. Despite the warm air, he wore a long-sleave t-shirt and baggy jeans, both black. His right leg was propped up on the empty chair beside him. Of course the worst kid in school is in my class. Why wouldn't he be?

Everyone else was there, so at least that was good. "Alright, so, welcome to chemistry. I hope your first day of you Thirteenth Year has been good so far." It was hard for him to keep positive. "I'm Dr. Wheatley-"

"Oh, so you're a doctor? Well, now we have a model to show us just how stupid we really are." Jeremiah gave him a look that gave off the unspoken message of "Yeah, I interrupted you. What're you gonna do about it?".

"Well, um, that's not exactly my intention. I'm sure that everyone in this room has the potential to do great things with their life, if not in science than in music, or art, or-"

"Or sitting on your arse all day." There were some laughs from some of Jeremiah's classmates.

Wheatley sighed. "Mr. Kurzbange, I hate to have to interrupt your schedule, but I'm going to have to ask you to stay after class for a few minutes." Jeremiah stayed almost silent for the rest of the period, issuing nothing more than mumblings and mocking looks.

The bell rang, and everyone but Wheatley and Jeremiah exited the room. The boy didn't move from his seat. "I hope you don't mind," Wheatley started. "I just can't talk formally anymore. It gets pretty tiring. I guess I'm used to this." He didn't get a response. "Listen, I get that you're trying to be funny, and I respect that. But I just want to ask you to keep the insults to a minimum, okay?" He hoped that he'd cleared the air, but Jeremiah simply laughed.

He grabbed his right leg and aided it off the chair. "You don't _get _anything about me." Jeremiah shook the hair out of his face, revealing the most brilliant green eyes Wheatley had ever seen. "Yeah, I can be an ass, and yeah, I have trust issues. But that doesn't mean that I need someone telling me what to do like I'm a freakin' kid. Especially not a moron like you." On that note, Jeremiah picked up his backpack and left, seriously favoring his left leg. Wheatley fell into his chair. _This is going to be a long year._


	3. Chapter 3: At the Conference

The final bell rang, and Wheatley dismissed the class. The warmth of summer had left with the comming of October, and November wasn't far away. He pulled out his new cellphone the moment all of the students were gone. It rang a few times before Chell picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, love." He couldn't help but smile. "I just wanted to remind you that I'm not going to be home until late tonight. Parent-Teacher confrences."

"Oh, right! I totaly forgot! I'll stay up for you."

Wheatley held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he organized his desk. "You don't need to do that. Unless of course, you want to! Don't want to keep you from doing what you want, or be controling, or anything."

Chell giggled from the other end. "I'll be fine. Now don't worry about me and just focus on showing everyone what a great teacher you are."

Wheatley was glad that she couldn't see him blushing. "Will do." He sat down. Chell..."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you, my Wheatables"

They said their goodbyes and hung up, each wishing that the other was there with them.

At 7:30, the Masons came in. Veronica had her orange hair in a bun, while James's head was shaved. Wheatley shook both of their hands and sat them down. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Wheatley." The woman greeted him polietly. "I certainly hope that your first month has been a pleasent one."

As he flipped through his papers, he smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Mason. I appreciate that." He took a seat. "But let's talk about Jeremiah." _Let's hope you're not as insane as him. _"I've heard that he used to be a great student. Now he never does his homework, he speaks out in class, and he's really distracting to the the other students."

"Jeremiah has had some... issues in the past." She pulled a photo out of her pocket and handed it to him. "He was always such a happy child before the accident." Wheatley looked at the picture of a man and woman, each with dark blonde hair, the female with the same bright green eyes which she shared with the child grinning between them. He looked so different now. But something was off.

"Other than the eyes," Wheatley obseved. "He looks nothing like either of his parents."

James nodded. "His real father had a stroke when his mother was still pregnant. She married Jeremiah's step-father a month before he was born, and they decided to give him Brad's last name."

"I see." Wheatley gave back the photograph. "And their family was very close?"

Carfuly returning the picture to her pocket, Veronica shifted uneasily in her seat. "Most of them. His brother took off years ago. No one's heard from him since."

He didn't know how to respond. Was it because he simply wasn't good in emotional situations? No, it wasn't that. Well, maybe a little. The main reason was that he'd done almost the same thing in that time so long ago. _Did I ever say goodbye to anyone? Or did anyone even care that I was leaving? Mum and dad were probably glad to see me gone. Although, I don't even remember what they look like. How would I know that? Either way, can't change the past. I just wish I knew where they are right now..._

"So, um, tell me a bit about Jeremiah. Does he have any hobies, or any idea what he wants to do after he graduates?" Wheatley asked, trying to make friendly conversation while still sounding professional.

"Well," Veronica fiddled with her necklace. "He doesn't like anyone to know, but he simply loves poetry. He's a brilliant writer, honestly. I think it's how he lets out his real feelings, not just the anger. As for the future, he's never really mentioned anything about it."

_Poetry, eh? Well, if you like it so much, why are you failing Writing? _He pushed up his glasses. "I don't know why, but I feel that if he really tried, Jeremiah could be great in the scientific field. Could be an observation, could be a hunch, it could just be an outright guess. All I know is that I want to see him succeed in every way possible. Just because his past has been dissapointing doesn't mean that his future has to be." Noticing that they'd run out of time, Wheatley bid the couple fairwell. The meetings ran for two more hours, but he couldn't get the conversation out of his mind.

_He's not a bad kid. He's just a boy who was hurt in the past. How is he any different than me? I was isolated as a child, and when I got the chance to feel important and be in charge, it took me over, made me do things I regret. Of course, I highly doubt that his relbelious streak will land him in space. Or at least I hope not. That could potentialy land him in some hot water. Humans and space don't exactly mix well. Or so I've been told._

When he returned home, Chell was fast asleep in one of the armchairs, fatuige stealing her consciencness away before she could see him walk through the door. He picked her up and carried her to bed, taking in the sweet scent of her hair. Try as he may, he couldn't sleep if his life depended on it. He grabbed a pad of Post-It notes and began writing a single name over and over again like a madman: "Jeremiah".

It wasn't until 2:13 AM that Wheatley began to feel tired. He crawled into bed next to Chell and kissed her on the forehead. He proceded to rub his eyes after putting his glasses on the side table. It had been a long day, and he needed rest. As he layed his head on the pillow, he felt something hard in its place. He picked it up and used is cell phone to shine a light on the mystery object. It was a photo album. Curious, he opened it and discovered a note.

It was typed on Aperture stationary, so that scared him. It read as follows:

It's amazing what one can find, isn't it? I'm giving this to you because you have something very dear to me in your possesion.

You two should be allowed to live your lives happily together for a very long time. I figured that this would help that happen.

But if you even consider doing anything that may put her in danger, I promise that your life will be a lot shorter.

Take care of my daughter.

-C

It was a strange message, and Wheatley internaly promised this "C" that he would keep Chell safe at all costs. He opened the photo album and recognised the picture of the woman and his young self immedietly.

He put his hand to his mouth to supress the gasp that would surely wake the woman laying next to him. _H- him... He's my... Could this really be true? _It had to be. It all fit. _I- I have a brother._


	4. Chapter 4: Hate

"That being said, this particular chemical compound will indefinatly-" The bell rang, interrupting Wheatley's lecture. "We'll continue tomorrow. Mr. Kurzbange, could you stay for a few minutes?"

Jeremiah looked up from his notebook, which, chances were, was filled with anything but chemistry notes. Once everyone left, he approached Wheatley's desk. "What the hell! I didn't do crap today!"

"What? No, I know you didn't. I just wanted to talk to you is all. Why don't you sit down?" Said Wheatley, anxious about how this would all work out. Jeremiah looked at him puzzled as he tried to read what his motive was. Unable to pinpoint it, he sat, mumbling something about how the only reason he was staying was so that he would miss calculus. Wheatley eyed the notebook. "Mind if I take a look?" Jeremiah hesitantly slid it across the table. Opening it to a random page, he saw the scrawling of a scarred young man who wanted nothing more than to let his sorrow be heard.

_Where have you been all of my life_

_And at the end of theirs?_

_How could you leave us alone in our strife_

_And in our hearts these deep tares?_

_With no one I love or to love me_

_I look into the empty sky_

_Wishing you cared enough to see_

_My tears as a star quickly streaks by_

The lines echoed in Wheatley's head like a bell. "That's beautiful." Jeremiah quickly snatched back the notebook. "It's about your brother, isn't it? Your foster parents mentioned you have one."

He glared at the table, desperately keeping eye contact to a minimum. "In the technical sense, yeah, my parents had a kid when they were seventeen. I've never met him. And just because we're related does _not_ mean I have to like him."

Oh. Well, this wasn't exactly going as planned. "So, um, you two don't get along?"

"Are you kidding me? I freaking hate him! I've never layed eyes on the guy and yet every time I even think about him I want to punch him in the face!" Oh. Harsh. Wheatley tried not to wince a little. "He didn't even come to our parents' funeral! Hell, he probably doesn't even know that they're dead!" The boy fell silent, and for the first time, the hurt he'd hidden all these years was visible through the blanket of loathing which had shielded him from the grueling world. "I got a letter the other day. They want me to go to America to work at their lab. To test stuff, you know? Plus, they want me to work on artificial intelligence. Some place called Aperture."

"No!" Wheatley couldn't keep the outburst to himself, and Jeremiah eyed him suspiciously. "I- I mean, why would you want to leave? Isn't there anything here you like? Anything at all?" He knew the answer was going to be no before the question was even completed. The real reason that he wanted him to stay there was because A: With his bad leg, there was no way he could jump through portals or run from turrets; and B: When Aperture said "work on artificial intelligence", Wheatley knew firsthand that they meant "become a piece of 'artificial' intelligence".

"Why are you so concerned with me anyway? What have I ever done for you?"

Here it comes. "Well, um, I knew you parents pretty well." He couldn't say that they were close, because they weren't. "Not your stepfather, though. You might be interested in this." He took the photo album out from its hiding spot.

Jeremiah pulled it closer to him and flipped open the cover. His confusion slowly progressed to astonishment as he looked from the image of young Stephen with their parents to the modern-day Wheatley in front of him. "B- but you should be..."

Wheatley nodded. "A lot older, yeah. But I can promise you that what I had to go through to look like this now was not worth it. If I hadn't done it, I would have known about you, and the accident, and I swear that we would have been a lot closer. And you have no idea how much I wish I hadn't done it. I guess I just wanted to tell you that I'm... I'm sorry."

Jeremiah couldn't tare his eyes away from the album. "You're never smiling. Not in one." He observed. "Why?"

"I knew them a lot differently than you did." Jeremiah asked what he meant. "Let's just say that you were the favorite. You write poetry. They liked that. Science, on the other hand..." Wheatley shrugged.

Jeremiah handed the memories back to him. "Why did you leave?"

"I wanted to do what I loved. When I was offered a job at a lab, I got on the first flight over to America. Was it a mistake? No. I met two people there. One saved my life, the other I fell in love with. But did I regret it? Not until I found out about what you've gone through. I just wish I could've been there for you." Wheatley looked up at the clock. "The period's already half-over. I'll write you a pass." As he watched his brother leave, he added on one last thought. "Jeremiah, if you even need anyone to talk to, I'm here." And then, Jeremiah did something that he swore he'd never do again.

He smiled. "Thanks."

Reality ceased to exist for the boy. Never before had he felt this way. Since the accident, he'd seen teachers as simplistic beings that never succeeded in anything else. As things. But now, now he saw them as people with families, hopes, and dreams, not unlike himself until six years ago. _Is he lying to me? Why would he do that? No. The pictures. They were too real_. He leaned against a locker as a stabbing pain went through his right leg; nothing out of the ordinary. The severe aching was always present, deeply adding to his limp, yet he refused to take any medication to aid the damage. He wasn't risking an addiction. Nobody gets to be a great poet when they're on drugs. The thing that surprised him the most was the lightening he felt in his heart. _I hated him. I mean, I _really_ hated him. So why don't I anymore? _He considered ditching the rest of class, but decided against it, wanting to make his only living relative proud.


	5. Chapter 5: It's you

Never again did Jeremiah Kurzbange speak out in class. He always did his work, and before long was getting A's and B's. He'd changed, and everyone noticed. He let people read his poetry and even embraced a new fondness for music. He was a new person, and he liked it.

That's why it was odd that he wasn't in school for a whole week.

The Friday of his disappearance, Wheatley let the last period class out and immediately pulled out his cell phone. He begged for someone to pick up.

"Hello?" A young girl, presumably Jeremiah's foster sister, asked innocently.

_Keep calm._ "Hello, my name is Dr. Wheatley. I'm from the high school. Is Mr. or Mrs. Mason there?"

"Yep! Hold on!" There was some fumbling on the other end. "Mrs. Mason! There's a guy from J.J's school on the phone!"

When the woman picked up, Wheatley didn't waste any time getting to business. "Mrs. Mason, this is Dr. Wheatley. Jeremiah hasn't been in here for a while. Is he alright?"

"Well, doctor, I don't know what you said to him, but he suddenly decided to go work in a scientific enrichment centre. He seemed really excited about it." She said this gleefully, clearly unaware of how terrible the situation might be.

_Oh no. No. No. _"He mentioned something about a letter. Was that the place?"

There was a moment of contemplation on her part. "Yes, sir."

He tried not to panic and get her worried. "Thank you. Have a good day."

The moment he hung up, he dialed another number. "Gatwick Airport, how can I help you?"

"I need to be on the next flight to Michigan."

"Well, the next leaves in an hour, but there's-"

"Book me on that one."

He didn't inform Chell of his plans, as to keep her from danger. He did, however, call her to let her know that he wouldn't be home for a while, maybe not until Monday. Luckily, she didn't answer, sparing him the need to explain further. _Why did you do it? You want to be a poet, not a scientist. why did you fall victim to their tricks? _He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the person in the seat behind him.

He managed to get into Aperture with some difficulty. He stole an I.D. badge to open doors and a lab coat by hacking into (breaking) a locker. As much as it killed him, he couldn't run or yell for Jeremiah. He had to walk silently with his head down, not drawing attention to himself. Plus he had to take off his glasses to keep from being recognized, so that added to the difficulty. _Where should I start? The relaxation vault? Or the test chambers? Or... _there_?_

He didn't have to wonder for long. Upon turning a familiar corner, he saw something protruding from the wall. Putting on his glasses, he realized that it was a wall panel. As if that weren't strange enough, on the back of it, in red paint, was a crude red arrow and a set of initials. "J.K" Jeremiah Kurzbange.

_I am the paintings all over the walls._

Wheatley hadn't thought about the poem from the man who had put him back in his body since the day that he and Chell had left the facility. Trusting pure instinct, he entered the wall from behind the panel, which slammed shut behind him. _Oh. Ominous. No, better not say that last time, I ended waking _her_ up. _It was pitch black, but he could have sworn that he heard footsteps behind him. Suddenly, a light flickered on, showing many pieces of artwork on every surface. The style was the same as when he'd entered a hidden room above a test chamber when he had first returned to his human body. On the opposite wall was another arrow, which, when he touched it, Wheatley discovered was still wet. Whoever this was, they were close. He couldn't determine whether this comforted him or added to his distress. He followed the arrows, each room having more and more paintings. He came across one chamber which was particularly entrancing. Old, deteriorating paintings of some familiar images. Scientists dying around a screaming woman, a certain homicidal AI with a woman's face melting into her as she offered a test subject cake, and a few more. In almost all of them, a stick figure with an orange face was present, a companion cube usually close by. And then there was the last mural; a test subject with her eyes closed, at peace. It seemed that this one had been restored over the years. Wheatley recognized her right away. _Chell... if I don't come back, please forgive me._ He found another arrow and moved on.

The time seemed to drag by, one passage leading to another. How long had it been? What if the arrows were just to throw him off, to give them more time? _What if I'm too late?_ No. He couldn't think like that. But when they'd decided to put _him_ into a core, how long had they left him in isolation? A few hours? A day, maybe? But Jeremiah, he'd already been there for five days. What had he been through?

_Damn it._ The passages ended. There was no arrow, no exit, and no hope. _I'm sorry, Jeremiah. I'm sorry._ He went to turn back, but stopped at the sight of more red paint on a panel. This time, there were words.

Knock three times. Wait for a response.

Push to open.

What if it was a trap? Either way...

He knocked and waited. Nothing. He was about to sprint away when the silence was broken. "D- Doug? Is that you?" Wheatley responded by shoving open the panel.

The room was made of metal, a thick steel door blocking them from the outside. A single light bulb was screwed into the wall. He knew this room. This was the very room he'd been kept in before they'd erased his existence. The panel closed behind him, leaving him with Jeremiah, who was the first to speak. "W- what are you doing here?" His green eyes were filled with horror. On his face, a burn from a thermal discouragement beam cut across his cheek; nothing that wouldn't heal over time. He was dressed in a test subject jumpsuit and long fall boots, as well as a pair of half-gloves that went up to his elbows, which Wheatley couldn't identify.

Before he could respond, the panel opened just quickly enough for a stack of papers to be thrown out from behind it. Wheatley picked them up and read the first page, which had a picture of the teenage boy before him.

Jeremiah Kurzbange

Age: 17 Height: 6' 3" Position: Test Subject

Core Type: Antisocial

That settled it. "I'm getting you out of here." There were no protests. "The only problem, _how_ do we get out of here?"

Jeremiah called out. "Doug! Doug, if you're there, open up! Please!" Who was this person that he kept mentioning? Had he truly gone insane in his time alone? Apparently not, for just after he said that, the secret panel emerged. Jeremiah was the only one who saw the figure of a man run by in the darkness.

_I am the man in the shadows._

"What're we waiting for? Let's go!" Wheatley urged him on. After stalling a few moments to let the phantom man get away without being seen, Jeremiah followed him. They managed to get through the hidden corridors, but they eventually had to go into the war-zone that was Aperture Laboratories. Wheatley stuck his head out from the panel to make sure no one was around. He motioned for Jeremiah to come. The boy ran the best he could, but his leg disallowed him to move more quickly.

"Stephen..." He said between shots of agony. "Go. I'll just slow you down. I'm fine, really. I just- I can't run anymore. Go now, don't let them find you."

"Not without you, mate." Wheatley knelt down in front of him. "You can't run, so get on." Jeremiah clambered onto his back. "Hold on as tight as you possibly can."

Jeremiah clutched Wheatley's shirt. "Don't have to. That's what the gloves are for." Despite barely exerting any effort, his grip was strong. Wheatley began the escape. "How do you know where to go, anyway?"

"Remember when I said that I used to work in a lab? That was here. And remember when I said that I regretted the method they used to keep me in my thirties when I should be a lot older? Yeah, that's what they want to do to you. But chances are, it wouldn't end nearly as well for you as it did for me. Far from it, actually."

Jeremiah fell silent. _A former employee. I wonder... _He let himself recall the strange conversation he'd had upon his third day of imprisonment.

They'd decided that he wasn't good enough for testing. He tried to jump over a thermal discouragement beam, but his leg ended up tripping him, the laser burning his face. And that was only the beginning of the test-related injuries. He'd been relocated to the isolation room the same day. It wasn't until Wednesday that he began to fully felt the effects. He'd sat in the corner, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At one point, he'd fallen asleep. He awoke to a frightening man's voice from behind the wall. At first, it just sounded like mad ramblings, but he managed to make out a few sentences, none of which had any meaning to him.

"Goddamn them!.. It is a must! Who's in charge? I had no choice! Help me, Uncle Johnson! Help me choose a design. Help me choose!.. Combustible lemons. My design and consent... Mutilation and Congelation... It's coming soon! It's loose! Sir, it's started! The ship has started! I let you down!.. It's not in my view! The man is dead! Chell! There's no way to stop j- judging! Judging! Hope? It is gone! It was almost done! Cave Johnson! Where's Johnson? Where's Johnson? I don't know... Please don't go. It's okay..."

Afraid that he really had lost it, he knocked once on the wall, and though he didn't expect a response, a small scream was issued.

_I am the voice the subjects may hear._

There really was someone there. "H- Hello?" He called.

"You're in a b- bad p- place. You need to esc- cape." The man seemed terrified, or was it pure paranoia?

"I can't! Who are you?"

He went into a short burst of hysterics. "Me? It depends who you're a- asking. For a while, I was nobody. Then I was the ghost. But now... now I'm usually c- called the R- Rat Man." By now, he was hyperventilating.

"But what's your _real_ name?"

There was silence, but soon the man spoke to a third person. "My name... Nobody's ever asked. Or c- cared. It should be f- fine." He paused. Jeremiah tried to hear a response, but heard nothing. "Because I t- trust him." Pause. "I don't know. He- he's just d- different than the others." Pause. "I know. You've never let me d- down. Just t- try to understand." There was a moment of internal conflict before finally answering the question. "D- Doug."

Doug. "Who's with you?"

"The c- companion cube. It s- speaks to me. The companion cube _does_ speak. It will never leave me. Never..."

Despite being very new at this, Jeremiah knew for a fact that companions cubes were inanimate objects. He didn't pay the matter any mind. "How did you get here?"

There was a beat of silence, and Jeremiah was afraid Doug had left, but he soon returned. "It was 1988. I- I worked here. O- one day after _she_ took over, she k- killed everyone else. I've m- managed to keep away from her since th- then."

_I am the man who survived the attack._

_1988. Thirty-two years. He went crazy waiting to get out of here, and that's gonna be me._ Of course, he had some of his facts wrong, but that was beside the point. He and Doug had talked for hours that day and the next, as well.

And now he was escaping. Five days. Five measly days and yet he felt an intimidating longing to see the sunlight. What would it feel like to be in that situation for _thirty-two years_?

_Why didn't you come? Are you afraid of how much things have changed? Did you have a family? Where are they now? Damn it, Doug, why didn't you come?_

Jeremiah's thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous simulated voice over the intercom. "I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again." Wheatley's head shot up. The cameras. How could he have been so careless? He'd been so focused on finding the quickest route out that he hadn't even tried to avoid them. "I asked two things of you: don't come back, and keep _her_ safe. And you couldn't do either of them."

_Chell. _"What have you done with her?" Wheatley demanded.

"Me? I didn't do anything to her... lately. But tell me. Did you honestly think you could escape without me finding out?" There was more than a little viciousness in GLaDOS's voice.

"Well, um, uh, maybe a little."

Before they knew it, a mass of guards were blocking the hallway. Wheatley began to turn around, only to see that they were now completely surrounded. Both he and Jeremiah were thinking the same thing. _We're going to die here._

The next sensation they felt was that of falling, then hitting the ground. Jeremiah now lay about a metre from Wheatley, who was staring straight ahead, trying to figure out what exactly had happened. When they sat up, a woman was standing close by. "Sorry I didn't warn you. I didn't have much time."

"Chell... how did you...?" Wheatley was dumbfounded.

She gave a sly smile. "I have my ways of knowing where you are." Was he supposed to be grateful or freaked out? "I followed you here, stole a portal gun, shot one out here, and kept close by in case we needed to make a quick escape. When I shot one under you, the momentum flung you three out here and I went in right after. When I came, I went through the emancipation grill, thus closing the portals so they couldn't follow us." Talk about an elaborate plan.

It all made sense except for one thing. "What do you mean, 'you _three_'?" Wheatley asked, confused. Chell didn't respond, but his question was answered by the mutterings that emerged from the shadows.

"F- free... We're s- safe n- now. So long..."

"Doug?" Jeremiah slowly approached the man behind the voice in the wall.

The man, Doug, sat, clutching a companion cube. He had on a white lab coat, tattered from decades of use. His black hair was long and messy, as was his beard. His shooting blue eyes looked in wonder at everything around him, and the dark circles below them contrasted greatly from his unnaturally pale skin. "After a- all this t- time..." He gave a smile that was only slightly psychotic. He stood and walked over to Chell. "And you... y- you look just like your parents. Your m- mother, mostly."

She looked at the various paint brushes in the coat pocket. "It was you. You helped me." Doug nodded.

Now it was Wheatley's turn. "And me." He still couldn't contain his amazement. "You were the one who put me back. Into my body." In response to his confusion, he told Jeremiah that he would explain later.

Chell looked at Doug with lament and hugged him. "Thank you so much." Unused to the sensation of human contact, he hesitated before putting his frail, trembling arms around her in response. "What will you do now?" She asked.

"I- I'm going to visit my fiancée and daughter's g- graves. Then probably go to the pharmacy." He pulled out a paper from his pocket. "I'm thirty-two years late for my prescription."

That was the last time any of them saw Doug Rattmann and his companion cube.

Wheatley looked over at his brother. "Why did you come here?"

"I... wanted you to be proud." Jeremiah said remorsefully.

He nodded. "You have no idea how worried I was. We're family. We're the only family we have left. I thought you were dead for sure." The boy was truly ashamed. "And to punish you..." Wheatley's demanding expression softened. "I've decided that you'll just have to come live with us."

There was no more Jeremiah Kurzbange: the troublemaker. There was now Jeremiah Wheatley: the straight A student and published poet. He lived with his brilliant older brother, sister-in-law and niece, all of who couldn't have been happier in their current situation. He was accepted to a great university and graduated top of his class. He moved out a few years later, got married, and had twins; a boy and a girl. He'd really turned his life around, and at times, the pain in his leg dulled to the point where he almost forgot about it.

While looking around Wheatley and Chell's attic one day, their daughter Caroline, age six, found a mysterious box. "Melanie! Steve! C'mere!" Her four-year-old cousins hurried over. "Whaddya think's in it?"

"Well, open it!" Steve urged. They did, revealing a strange component.

It appeared to be a metal ball with handlebars emerging from both the top and bottom. There were plates that resembled eyelids, and, when opened, revealed a cracked circle of glass. Also in the box, though the children never read it, was a note.

My dear child,

How I wish I could have been closer with you. The reason I kept you ten

years ago after I told you that you could leave was to keep you from

slipping away from me, but when I saw how much you love the man, I

knew that the only thing I want is for you to be happy. I figured that you'd

appreciate a token of the memories we had, as well as how your love first

appeared to you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me in both my

human and current lives. I truly hope you can forgive me for all that I've done.

With love and a sad farewell,

Your mother


End file.
